by Derek W. Dick (Fish)
Taken from "Internal Exile" CD, released on Polydor in 1992
I saw a blue umbrella in Princess Street Gardens
Heading out west for the Lothian Road
An Evening News stuffed deep in his pocket
Wrapped up in his problems to keep away the cold
Grierson's spirit stalks the dockyards
Where the only men working are on documentary crews
Shooting the films as the lines get longer
As the seams run out, as the oil runs dry
Hey there laddie, Internal Exile, when will you realise
We've got to let go
Hey there lassie, Internal Exile, when will you see that
We've got to let go
Starlings wheel round Georgian spires
And the fires of Grangemouth burn the skies
A lion sleeps in a tenement close
In a country that's tired and deaf to his roar
Hey there laddie, Internal Exile, when will you realise
We've got to let go
Hey there lassie, Internal Exile, when will you see that
We've got to let go
They bury the wasteland deep in the wilderness
Poison the soil and reap the harvest
Of blind indifference, greed and apathy
Sowed way back in our history
The fish are few, the harbours empty
The keels now rot on our oil slicked shores
The sheep are gone, the farms deserted
We're out of sight and we're out of mind
Hey there laddie, Internal Exile, when will you realise
We've got to let go
Hey there lassie, Internal Exile, when will you see that
We've got to let go
Like our fathers before us we've eyes for America
Dream of a new life on foreign shores
But wherever we go we'll always know
That the land we stand on is never our own
Hey there laddie, Internal Exile, when will you realise
We've got to let go
Hey there lassie, Internal Exile, when will you see that
We've got to let go
